Old things

Our house is stuffed with old things to some of which, one or other of us is deeply attached.  We have quite a big house really but it seems to me to be shrinking.  (What with trophies and such).

So, as I do every year, I’m thinking of getting rid of some of them. (No, not the trophies)

For instance the piano.  Although I still feel that a house without a piano is a sad thing, ours*,  has reached the stage which it seems some pianos do, when although it can be tuned, (but only to a kind of sharpish B), it shrugs off the influence of the piano tuner’s hard work within a few minutes of him finishing the job.  He hasn’t been able to tune it to concert pitch for several years anyway so it’s really losing all pretensions to being anything other than a big, dark, jangly eyesore in the corner.   If it was as flat as its pitch it wouldn’t matter so much but it’s quite bulky.

So we had plans to pass it on to Youngest** when they have built their extension but this seems to be taking a long time – they haven’t started yet – and finally I’ve decided that it must go willy nilly.  So I looked up piano removal and came across a site which does piano removal and re-homing/recycling.  They charge £129 for the removal and this seems pretty reasonable to me – if they’re also going to deal with it kindly?  Surely the keys are worth preserving and perhaps the strings?.

My next plan then, is to add a bookcase or cupboard to my Ikea shopping list.  Or both!  Oh and I suppose to spend a day trailing a black sack or three round the house and hurling old stuff into it very quickly so I don’t have time to wonder how any of it might come in handy one day.

When I was about ten, I had piano lessons for a while, with a Miss Harley.  I thought that the piano involved the simultaneous use of too many hands, eyes and lines of music for any normal person to manage.  She thought I didn’t practice enough.  I think we were both right.  Anyway, if I was very good (well behaved – not often musically good) she would let me look at a fabulous old book of Russian Fairy tales, leather bound, gold-leaved and sumptuously illustrated, while waiting for a parent to collect me.  Recently, English Inukshuk showed us a link to a lovely old illustration and in following the link, I discovered one of the pictures from that old book which was my only reason for not actively hating my piano lessons.  It’s a Dulac painting but he never illustrated a whole book of Russian Fairytales.  I spent quite a while searching old prints and  eventually concluded that Miss Harley’s book must have included works from several artists.  And this being the internet age, I found myself searching for Miss Harley herself.  There are quite a few of them in Croydon but no sign of her.  Well I suppose she would have to be about ninety now.

And here’s an old bog near Bagnor, at the end of the day.

And now I’m going to lay my old back down and read for a while.  Somehow, there hasn’t been much time for that in the last week or two!

*Given to me by my half-sister who had five.  She now has only three.

**She does know what it sounds like – I’m wasn’t trying to sellgive her a pup, honest.  In fact I’m encountering a little resistance from her on the subject of getting rid of it.

2011 goes up in flames

NYE party (It’s ok though, we had lots of food and drink indoors first – it wasn’t all about fire)

There’s something atavistic about fire at the turn of the year though isn’t there.  Light in the dark, warmth in the cold, wishes in the sparks and promises glowing in the embers.

Especially when you’re stuffed with curry and slow cooked lamb and two kinds of rice and salad and potatoes and most of a bottle (really? Oh dear!) of wine.  It was lucky no one discovered the secret ingredient in the lamb till I was freezing away the left-overs this morning.  A beautifully tender wooden spoon nestled among the veg.